Outshine (House of Oak Book 5)

by Nichole Van

  It was possible he would forget her too.

  He wanted to howl his frustration. Why did this have to be a choice?

  “That said, I still stand by my earlier thoughts,” Jasmine continued. “The universe has a built in safety valve, like you say. But its protection of the space/time continuum is more stringent than you think. I’m not sure I believe in the concept of deviant timelines. The universe simply won’t allow such disruptive things to occur. Despite how much it pains me to say it, I don’t think Simon’s death is what needs correction.”

  “You’re wrong.” Emphatic.

  She sighed. “Perhaps. All I can see is that Fossi holds the answer.”

  “And she’s working on our solution. I think she is close.”

  Daniel turned back to Jasmine. He didn’t miss the bags under her eyes, the exhaustion lines beside her mouth.

  Jasmine was slipping away from them, the chaos of the portal taking its toll.

  He needed absolution.

  Jasmine needed a cure.

  Fossi’s solution couldn’t come quickly enough, for everyone’s sake.

  But what about Fossi herself? That bit of conscience whispered. Everyone benefits from her efforts except her.

  Daniel pushed the thought away.

  He had no answer.

  Chapter 18

  The great hall

  Whitmoor House

  October 1, 1828

  The night before the harvest festival, Fossi found a package on her bed wrapped in paper and tied with a pretty ribbon.

  A note was nestled beside it.

  Thank you for lending your acute intellect to my fractious problem. I am exponentially grateful.

  She smiled at the puns, turning the card over and back.

  There was no signature.

  There couldn’t be, of course, because it was quite improper for an unmarried man to give a present to an unmarried lady.

  Fossi waited for a sense of outraged morality to raise its hand.

  Nothing.

  Well, then.

  She stared at the bold handwriting scrawled across the foolscap for a full three minutes, firmly telling her racing heart to cease this foolishness.

  But the silly organ would not obey.

  It galloped and frolicked and made such a jolly mayhem in her chest, she feared she might burst.

  Daniel had . . . cared. He had listened and wanted to give her this. Not just the present itself. But the experience of having received a gift for the first time.

  She traced a finger over the silky soft ribbon.

  She could see why others found gifts to be so thrilling.

  What was contained within?

  As this would likely be the only present she ever received, she desperately wanted to savor the sensation.

  She gently pulled on the bow, slowly unraveling it.

  She parted the paper to reveal another layer of tissue. But beyond the tissue—

  “Oh!”

  A gloriously soft length of Kashmir tumbled onto her bedcovers—a vibrant red and blue paisley border against yards of soft cream. Luxurious and incredibly expensive.

  Fossi gathered the length of fabric into her hands, fingers shaking, clutching it to her chest.

  The kind man.

  I hear you, the gift said. I witness you.

  She buried her nose into it, breathing deep. Could she detect lingering bay rum?

  Would he keep his promise to dance with her tomorrow?

  Embarrassment tinged her cheeks.

  Part of her hoped he would forget, as she wasn’t sure she could bear the mortification of having practically asked him to ask her to dance.

  Of course, there was another part of her—the part that fully intended to sleep with his shawl wrapped around her—that didn’t care how the dance came to be . . . just that it did.

  Now how was she supposed to sleep?

  Despite the anticipation for the next day, Fossi did manage to sleep. She credited the heavy warmth of her new shawl.

  The shawl stayed with her throughout the day, adorning one shoulder as she cheered on tenant farmers and Daniel in sack races and foot ball. She draped it over her elbows as she and the vicar’s wife judged the embroidery contest entries and then wrapped it around her upper body for warmth as dinner was served on groaning tables.

  All too soon, Fossi had changed into her ball gown and members of the local gentry arrived at Whitmoor House. Lantern-lit carriages dotted the drive in a patient line, each one waiting to discharge its passengers.

  The medieval great hall had been transformed. All the furniture had been removed and chairs installed around the perimeter. Flowers and greenery festooned the chandeliers and sconces. A roaring fire in the enormous hearth added to the cheer. A small orchestra tuned their instruments in the minstrel gallery, violins running scales beneath the hum of conversation.

  Fossi surveyed it all with astonished eyes. Heavens. She had entered a fairy tale.

  She scanned the room, knowing her eyes sought out one person in particular. As master of the house, he stood near the front door, greeting guests by name as they arrived. Dressed in a formal black cutaway coat with crisp white cravat and waistcoat, Daniel was elegance personified. More than one woman stole glances at him.

  And this was the man who would ask her to dance—

  “Foster! You look positively lovely this evening. I knew that color would become you.”

  Fossi startled and turned to find Marianne Knight at her elbow.

  “Thank you.” Fossi smoothed her hands down the sides of her red silk gown. “How lovely to see you again. I am glad you arrived safely.”

  “We did. Jasmine tells me you are to sing tonight. Is that so?”

  Butterflies launched a valiant effort to breach the walls of her stomach. Fossi placed a hand over her abdomen to hold them in.

  “We shall see.”

  But, of course, Jasmine was correct. Fossi was to sing. Daniel had asked it of her and Fossi had been helpless to refuse, despite her nerves and shy embarrassment.

  How her father would rage over the vanity of her performing before a crowd. Not to mention the lurid reputation opera singers had in the public eye.

  No. Her father would consider this performance a disgrace of apoplectic proportions.

  But a musical performance was appropriate for a lady and as Daniel had wished it . . .

  All too soon, the man himself made his way to the front of the room, standing on a small pedestal placed just for the occasion.

  Daniel raised his hands for silence.

  “Welcome one and all to Whitmoor House,” he said. “It is a delight to see all my dear friends gathered for an evening of dancing and conversation.”

  Daniel continued on for a few moments, complimenting some and being good-naturedly ribbed by a heckler or two in the crowd. The moment passed too quickly.

  “To launch the festivities this evening, I have invited Miss Foster Lovejoy to share her prodigious vocal talents with us. She is a rare delight.” Daniel smiled and held out his hand to her. “Miss Lovejoy.”

  Fossi focused on his gaze, pulling strength from him as she took her place on the small pedestal and faced a room of staring eyes. She had never performed for so many people at one time.

  The musicians struck up several cords. Those dratted butterflies choked her, and she missed the first two notes before beginning the song.

  Daniel’s shawl helped in the end. The warmth of it settled around her shoulders, and she forgot everything but the music.

  As usual, she poured her soul into her voice. All the color she typically hid deep inside.

  And in that moment, she felt whole. Not simply the shattered fragments of something potentially lovely.

  But genuinely beautiful in her own right.

  Daniel had done this, she realized. His belief and kindness and acceptance had, in turn, allowed her to fully accept herself.

  The song trilled up and down, scales running, her voice ringi
ng true and clear.

  It felt glorious.

  Thunderous applause met her final note. Fossi flushed and curtsied. And then curtsied again. She raised her head and looked for Daniel but couldn’t see him for the crush.

  She took the offered hand of a local gentleman and stepped down. Kindly faces surrounded her, offering congratulations and asking questions about her training.

  The dancing was well underway before Fossi broke free of her admirers to scan the crowd again for Daniel.

  Wasn’t the next dance to be their promised waltz?

  Later, Fossi would reflect on how quickly everything could change.

  Through the crowd she spotted Daniel. His head was bent and a lady—a remarkably pretty woman, expensively dressed with jewels in her blond hair—pressed a hand to his shoulder, standing on tiptoe to whisper something in his ear.

  The act of familiarity wasn’t necessarily the problem.

  However, Daniel smiled at the mysterious woman. It was his true smile, the one that lit his eyes and allowed a person straight inside his walls.

  The one Fossi thought maybe he saved just for her.

  The orchestra struck the opening strains of the waltz. Daniel didn’t budge from his position, laughing and then replying to the woman.

  Fossi felt a chasm open beneath her feet. A vast expanse of empty space that served to highlight the enormous gulf between Daniel and herself.

  Of course he didn’t remember their waltz. She had asked him to forget about it. And he was gracious and would take her at her word. It wasn’t as if he genuinely wanted to waltz with her for her sake.

  That would suppose deeper feelings.

  Foster, you would spin a queen’s robe out of coarse thread.

  She was reliving that moment with Mr. Young all those years ago. The acute mortification. The sinking rock in her stomach.

  You will never learn, will you? If a man cares for you, he will say so. Did that note earlier speak of love? Of affection? Of anything beyond polite gratitude?

  No.

  No, it had not.

  Simply an expression of thanks wrapped in some mathematical puns. A generous gift to a friend.

  Daniel drew the lady’s hand through his arm, waving at someone across the room before turning back to smile merrily at the woman. His face utterly delighted.

  Fossi’s shawl pulled on her arms, a heavy weight. Was the room too warm?

  “Miss Lovejoy.” A voice at her elbow. “Would you do me the honor of this dance?”

  Fossi turned to the middle-aged, stout man smiling beside her. Mr. Thomas. He had been introduced to her after she sang and had said kind things about her performance.

  Daniel walked further away.

  He didn’t look back.

  “I would be honored, Mr. Thomas,” she said with a small smile.

  Fossi turned away from Daniel and allowed Mr. Thomas to lead her into her first waltz, feet remembering the steps her mother had taught her long ago.

  She smiled at Mr. Thomas’ comments and asked questions. It didn’t take much to get him talking about his horses and hunting dogs.

  And with every down-up-up of the waltz, she mentally repeated.

  Let him go. Let him go. Let him go.

  Which was absurd in the extreme.

  Daniel had never been hers in the first place.

  The waltz was nearly over before Daniel realized he had missed it.

  Damn.

  His heart sank.

  How could he have done such a thing?!

  Georgiana and Sebastian Carew had arrived quite unexpectedly from Stratton Hall just as Fossi finished singing, surprising them all.

  As Arthur Knight’s younger sister, Georgiana knew about the time portal and had experienced her own trials with it years ago. She was now happily married to Sebastian Carew, the Earl of Stratton, and had a bevy of children. As some of the few people who knew his complete history, Daniel felt a deep connection with Lord and Lady Stratton and considered them to be an older brother and sister.

  “Daniel.” Georgiana placed a hand on his arm as he craned his neck, looking for Fossi. “Are you quite all right?”

  “Yes, just trying to see Fossi.”

  Had Fossi remembered that they were to dance? He hadn’t reminded her, but then he had every intention of being at her side, so it hadn’t seemed necessary.

  He couldn’t easily spot her head amongst the crowd. Where had she gone?

  “Will she fix the portal, do you think?” Georgiana quietly asked, standing on tiptoe to join him in his search.

  “Absolutely. She is a true genius.”

  “She is a remarkable talent.” That from Sebastian who stood beside Georgiana. “Her singing . . .” He trailed off into a look of wonder.

  Daniel heartily agreed with the man.

  His heart had nearly burst from his chest as she sang, voice soaring through the room.

  Even in the twenty-first century with instant access to millions of songs and vocal performances, Fossi would have been remarkable.

  In the nineteenth century performing before people who had rarely heard a well-trained voice . . . she was a revelation.

  Heaven made earth-bound.

  Daniel realized, yet again, that any woman could be beautiful from the outside in, but it took much more for a person to be beautiful from the inside out.

  Foster Lovejoy was beautiful from the outer tips of her toes to her innermost soul.

  Wasn’t that a humbling thought?

  And he had missed their waltz together. A waltz he had been looking forward to with far more anticipation than wisdom.

  Finally he saw her. Across the room, she curtsied to Mr. Thomas and excused herself out a side door. One that led to a small corridor that opened into the Tudor-era courtyard.

  Was she upset? Or just overwhelmed and wishing to escape the crowded room?

  “Excuse me, if you would.” He smiled at Georgiana and Sebastian.

  Georgiana returned a far too-seeing grin, dazzling and full of mischief.

  “Go to your Miss Lovejoy, Daniel,” she said with a jerk of her chin. “We shall track down Linwood and torment him.”

  “Indeed, we shall. I’ve been practicing my dad jokes,” Sebastian chuckled, waggling his eyebrows.

  Poor Timothy Linwood.

  “But I insist you introduce us to Miss Lovejoy before the evening is out, Daniel.” Georgiana beamed at him and gave a little push. “Now, off you go or Sebastian will begin his torment with you.”

  “You think so little of me, darling.” Sebastian placed a hand on his chest, expression mock-pained. “I was simply going to ask Daniel if he knew the difference between roast beef and pea soup?”

  Daniel shook his head. “I think that’s my cue to leave.”

  “Run.” Georgiana gave a firmer push, but Sebastian’s words reached him anyway.

  “I believe anyone can roast beef, but only a truly talented person can—”

  “Sebastian,” Georgiana said warningly. “Let’s go find Timothy.”

  Daniel chuckled.

  How he had missed his friends.

  Daniel found Fossi five minutes later, seated on a bench in the small courtyard, her new shawl pulled tight around her shoulders. Music from the great hall drifted out. Braziers flared around the perimeter of the courtyard, sending tendrils of light flickering up the ancient walls and dancing across Fossi’s face.

  Heaven help him. She was beautiful. Stunning. The classical purity of her jawline and arched brows, the porcelain glow of her skin, the burnished chestnut of her hair.

  How had he not seen her thus from the first moment they met?

  Though, as he thought about it, he supposed he had. He just hadn’t fully appreciated how thoroughly her exterior matched her interior.

  The wine-red ball gown hugged her figure, showing her curves to advantage. The red silk gleamed in the firelight, contrasting ribbon of the same color setting off her lovely collarbones and small waist. Jasmine had sugge
sted the shawl as a perfect match to the dress when he had asked her opinion.

  He liked seeing Fossi wearing his gift. It was an unexpectedly possessive emotion and gave instant insight as to why it was considered taboo for men to give unwed women gifts of clothing. But the caveman part of him wanted to give her more, to stake his claim.

  Such thoughts were not helping his feelings of guilt.

  She glanced up as he approached, flashing a wan smile.

  Ah.

  Her eyes said everything he needed to know.

  She had remembered his promise to dance with her. This was her first ball and her first dance—both important items on her meager list of dreams—and he . . . hadn’t been there for her.

  She had danced with a stranger.

  His stomach plummeted. Disappointment in himself joining his guilt over Simon.

  Typical of Fossi, she was not angry with him.

  No. She would never turn her emotions outward and throw them at the feet of others.

  The world had let her down and passed her by too often for Foster Lovejoy to feel anger over a missed dance.

  Anger would imply expectation.

  Expectation that someone else would meet her halfway. Expectation that she mattered to others.

  By now, he knew Fossi didn’t do expectations.

  But other emotions were written upon her face—wistfulness, sadness, resignation.

  It was the resignation, in particular, that hit him hard.

  The expression that said, This is how life treats me. I expect nothing else. It is why my hopes and dreams are so small. And even then, I cannot reach them.

  He hated that he had been the one to put that look on her face.

  “There you are.” He winced at the banality of his words, his voice sounding far too loud in the gloom.

  She sucked in a deep breath. “Here I am.” Her tone was light, belying the unhappiness in her eyes.

  They were to speak in inanities, he supposed.

  But, as usual, she surprised him.

  “Thank you for the shawl, my lo—Daniel. It is lovely. ” She pulled the shawl tighter around her, wrapping a hand into its softness.

  Using the thing to create a barrier between them. To swallow back her sadness and move on.